


Part of Society

by blackfallstar



Category: Joker (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackfallstar/pseuds/blackfallstar
Summary: What would have happened if the Joker was more insane, less mentally ill, starting from the live show on.





	Part of Society

"You see, I was wondering," he started. 

"Are you serious?" the television host asked.

"I was wondering," he continued, raising his voice above the other man, who was futilely trying to ask whether it was a joke.

"what exactly makes you better than me?" he asked.

"What-"

"IS IT" he paused "your riches, your fame, or" he paused again, looking directly into the eyes of many of the live studio audience with an inscrutable look in his eyes, "is it that you've led so many people to believe you're special."

"Now stop that, right now, young man." 

"Or is it that you're dead, and I'm still alive?" he mused quietly as he stared into his hands folded gently on his lap.

The TV host was blatantly shocked. "I'm dead?" he asked.

The clown's head snapped up, the wide toothy grin accentuated by the ridiculous bright red lips.

"Yes," he answered, and a shot rang out. The television host's face froze in the middle of the transition to a look of confusion and horror before blankly beginning to lose all life.

He turned to the audience, screaming and shouting as they panicked to get away. 

"Don't worry, be happy," he sung softly. "We're all equal when we're dead."

He turned back to the camera, which had been entirely abandoned after one shot, and stood up, quietly pacing towards it.

He reached out a hand to turn up the camera, covering most of the screen with one hand.

It didn't move, and a soft exhale of laughter rang out behind it, easily captured by the sensitive microphone. His hand drew away from the camera, and now his painted face filled the screen.

"Sorry everyone," he apologized, "But as they say," and now he imitated the traditional outro, "that's life."

"Or maybe it isn't," he mused quietly, the beginnings of insane laughter ringing out before the off button of the camera was pushed.

The laughter slowly died, and he rose from his crouch, finger carelessly slung through the trigger of the handgun, safety completely disabled.

A soft humming song emanated around the now abandoned and completely silent live studio, covering the soft hum of machinery. The clown danced to the music, without real rhythm or tune, hands in fists and chest out as his massive feet glided across the shining polished floor.

It was a slow process to the door, but it wasn't as if anyone was counting. If they had, they would see the clown gently setting his empty hand on various objects, pulling his body into gentle spins with them.

He only stopped once he reached the metal push handle, his hand contact with the cold metal seeming to level his head. He took a deep breath, eyes closing at the action, and when he opened them again there was another undecipherable look within their depths.

A hard push on the handle threw open the door to send it bouncing against the slowly dissolving stopper installed on the other wall, and the clown stepped into the street riots with an incredible amount of confidence, his smile seeming to only become brighter as he took in the destruction all the unsatisfied had caused.

"Aren't you the one who just killed that stupid TV host?" one of the people asked, stopping their rampage through the streets.

The man took a long time to respond, eyes slowly rotating to look at the one who had dared to ask and then merely staring at them for several seconds. The one under such scrutiny naturally felt uncomfortable, but it wasn't as if the clown cared, and just when the black clad rioter was about to leave with the idea that he had gotten the wrong person, the response came.

"Yes."

It seemed almost too bland, but the rioter seemed pleased by the response, calling over his friends because "guys, this was the one who just killed that bastard." The man just continued staring as if he was observing some kind of wild animal. The rioters were quite entertaining to him, especially once a small crowd of them had gathered.

"That was awesome," one of them announced happily, and was quickly backed up by the ones surrounding him. 

"Killing all of those stupid rich people is a favor to society."

"Who wants the people who wish for recessions?"

"They're not adding value, they're just skimming off the top!"

The clown man in the center of so many wearing clown masks had carefully looked at each as they talked, that smile still spread across his face as he observed each like a new animal, head tilted.

It seemed that the last one to talk sent him over the edge, as his insane laughter once again rang out and his head fell back.

The surrounding people seemed to slightly draw back in reasonable fear and confusion, but it only attracted more to the edges of the crowd.

"Oh, my poor little ducklings," the man said, a tone of sarcasm mixing with the loving fatherly tone.

The crowd continued staring, now only more confused than they had already been. 

"You're all such a _big_ part of society, and I don't think you quite understand what I'm saying," he said happily. "So I'll just send you on your way then." Another gunshot rang out, loud despite all the commotion around them. The person who had approached him first slowly fell back, a spot of wetness slowly darkening the shirt around their chest. It took a second for the crowd to realize what had happened, then they scattered like ants, shouting that he was crazy, and that he wasn't one of them.

"Of course I'm not one of you," the clown mused to himself again. "But I'm a bit offended that you would call me crazy." He laughed again, spinning the gun on his finger, hand still in the trigger hole.

He once again looked around, enjoying the sights of the flames, of the crowd desperately trying to attack the cop car that appeared to be coming towards the studio, and just laughed again, easily dipping out of sight. 

His mouth closed as he caught sight of a man who glanced furtively around, then looked at the cop car. It seemed that he was judging its trajectory, and it was only when he was sure that it was not coming towards him did he duck into the dark alleyway he stood next to. Another large smile spread across his painted face. Such an interesting little duckling. Surely it wouldn't do any harm to follow them.

He practically skipped over, a spring to his step that had never been there before, and quietly followed the man by ducking into the alleyway.

A mere second later, and a gunshot rang out, the bright muzzle flash lighting up the back of a large man, with a woman and a small child next to him, all dressed in fine winter coats. The man instantly collapsed, and the woman's shout ran out through the alleyway. The clown laughed happily, clapping his hands like a small excited child. The black clad man instantly whirled around, gun still out.

"That was marvelous, darling," the clown said with an exaggerated accent.

The other man, in a clown mask, seemed surprised at first, then smirked and turned back around.

"Just killing the pigs," he announced, once again shooting and this time hitting the back of the woman who was scurrying away with her child. She collapsed, much as the man beside her had done just moments earlier, and the child stopped in seeming shock.

"They make everything worse for the rest of us, you know," the black clad man said with hate. 

The clown laughed again, and listened to the other man cock his handgun once again. Another gunshot, and the other man fell onto the dirty floor, a shocked breath leaving his mouth.

"Things can't get worse when your dead," the clown man said in a sing-song voice.

The child had turned around, staring wide eyed and confused at the situation before him. The clown walked forward towards the perfectly still child, a wide smile still spread across his face.

"I don't have anything for you child," he said happily, making it an open secret that he had no more bullets. The child wouldn't understand, though. "Besides, children aren't quite part of society yet," he continued. "Find me when you are."

The clown man once again skipped away, the red of his suit brighter than anything else in the dim light, including the darkly shimmering blood. A soft whistle came from his mouth.


End file.
